


Travel and Sea Air

by Liadt



Category: Richard III - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaret travels back to England. She does not find the trip eventful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travel and Sea Air

Each wave was higher than the next; cliffs made of water and spray. Then there were the plunges, which were deadlier than the waves, where the sea nearly enveloped the ship and dragged it down to the depths. On the ship, which was crossing the channel from France to England, the sailors would have wept and prayed if they could. The rain beat their faces and stole their tears, while the wind snatched away their breath. It was hard to breathe, never mind pray. Instead, they focused keeping the ship and themselves in one piece.

Below deck, Margaret, the sole female passenger, was in a tiny cabin on her own. The only acknowledgement she gave to the conditions caused by the storm was to hold onto a pillar to prevent her from being flung around the room. No tears ran down her face, there was no terror in her eyes and no prayer passed her lips. She waited patiently, with the occasional drum of her fingers on the woodwork suggesting she wasn’t that patient.

The next morning, the vessel sailed into the safety of a friendly harbour. When the ship was docked, Margaret came on deck. She took no notice of the disarray that surrounded her. The Captain came over to help her off the ship. For although her clothes were made of cheap, fraying material that marked her out as a passenger unlikely to tip him for any care he gave her, she was still a woman. Therefore, what had terrified him and the crew would go double for a goodwife.

“How now, madam,” he said and offered her his hand.

Margaret took it and inclined her head in reply. 

“Did not the sea become a frightening spectacle last night? We were fortunate that it pleased God to let us live.”

Margaret turned her head and fixed him with an unblinking stare. The Captain had a sudden desire to flee from her. The way she looked into him made him think she could draw his very soul from his body and cast it down to hell. 

“Live? I do not live. There is no life left inside me: it died long ago.” Grief briefly suffused her features, deepening the lines etched on her face. Then the grief disappeared, as suddenly as it came, leaving her face a stony mask again. “There was no tempest to me. I knew when I set foot on board whatever happened I would reach England. There is a message I must deliver, both prophecy and curse. It is important my words are heard when my voice sets them free. They shall pierce more than clouds.”

A curse? She must be a witch, thought the Captain. That explains everything. The storm had to have been her doing to hasten the journey to England. He should denounce the unsettling women to whoever was in charge of the port, but he had the feeling that her fate belonged to creatures from either heaven or hell, who would not take kindly to interference from mere mortals. He led her off the boat and then when she had taken her hand from his arm he rubbed it, as if to coax his soul back to the safety of the centre of his body.


End file.
